


Come A Little Closer

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Christmas Presents, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, POV Molly, POV Molly Hooper, Poor Molly, Presents, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Sherlock's Birthday, Sherlock's Scarf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly has always been quite fascinated by how Sherlock looked, in particular Sherlock’s scarves. When Sherlock wears a certain scarf in particular, though, the night before he’s supposed to leave on his one way trip as penance, she realizes that they’ll forever mean something more to her than just something to be fascinated by after that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come A Little Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aaronlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaronlisa/gifts).



> So this was picked by my dear friend **Aaronlisa** off the [Christmas Fic Countdown](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/134408122533/christmas-fic-countdown-2015) prompt list (the prompt being " _PULLING YOU IN FOR A KISS WITH A SCARF_ " and instead of this being sexy and fun like originally planned I made it angsty and bittersweet, so my apologies. The scarf Molly got him, BTW, looks like [this one](http://s27.postimg.org/6ojl87mv7/alexander_mcqueen_grey_doubled_mini_skull_scarf.jpg) by Alexander McQueen.
> 
>  **Edit:** The amazing graphic above was done by my friend **mellovesall** for my 35th birthday. :;snuggles:: Thank you so much, hun!

She had admired everything about him from the first moment he walked into her morgue. He seemed so elegant, in his way. So classy and so perfect. She had thought she could stare at him for hours and never get tired. From the way his suits had fit him perfectly to the way he looked when he had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, with the top few buttons undone, she’d always just salivated slightly at how well his clothes fit him. His hair always looked like he’d just run his fingers through it rather than a brush or comb, and she wanted to do the same. And that said nothing about his physique.

And then there was the way he wore a scarf. She didn’t wear hers the same way, though every once in a while she’d try, then undo it and shake her head, thinking herself foolish for trying to emulate something so posh, so cool, so _him_. It just looked so damn sexy on him. She had dreams about those scarves, some of them on the rather wicked side. Those she kept to herself.

It wasn’t until a long time later she learned a bit more about him. Learned that the suits were rather old. His brother had one told him a well cut suit never goes out of style, and when he’d kicked his drug habit and realized he needed a certain image that he needed good suits, and he’d put what little he had left of his inheritance towards the suits and the shirts and shoes he wore with them. It had left him with very little money, which was why he’d had a rather run down flat on Montague Street prior to moving in with John, but it had been worth his weight in gold. Later he’d had more money, and he’d updated his appearance, but that had stuck with her.

As they’d grown closer she’d decided she wanted to get him something nice. The night of the ill-fated Christmas party her gift had been a pair of leather gloves. Nothing too extravagant or costly, but she had noticed he had worn them from time to time afterward. In the time before he left to go after Moriarty’s organization she got him a coat. Nothing like his Belstaff; that was too showy. But it was a simple yet incredibly warm coat for at least the start of it all, since he’d said he was going to Switzerland first, and he’d accepted it with a nod and a kiss on the cheek and his sincerest thanks.

The Christmas when he returned she’d decided to splurge. She’d already bought his gift months earlier when there was the scene in the lab. She’d been half tempted to take it back, or use it herself, though it really wasn’t her style. And she was still rather miffed at him when Christmas rolled around, so instead of giving it to him in person she mailed it off to him, making sure it arrived parcel post before Christmas, and let that be that. Whether he opened it or not didn’t matter to her at that point. She’d done her bit, given him the gift.

And then he’d shot Magnussen and it all came crashing down about him.

John had to be the one to tell her. Sherlock had been whisked away by his brother and locked away in the fortress Mycroft called a home, allowed no visitors and no phone calls. Molly had known _something_ had gone on by the frantic call she got from Mary Christmas Day when she was being discharged from Royal London and she just _knew_ in the pit of her stomach that something bad was happening involving her husband and Sherlock, but it wasn’t until John had trudged into her home at nearly two in the morning that they’d learned the full details. He’d been damned lucky he wasn’t being charged as an accomplice, he was. And while Mary and John were clinging to each other, grateful that their lives were going to be able to have some semblance of normalcy, Molly had slipped away, her heart heavy.

Sherlock’s life…it’d never be the same again.

She’d felt a heaviness in her heart as she went about her day to day, waiting to hear more, hoping for a miracle. The day she came off shift to find a black sedan parked outside Barts, though, she had the sinking suspicion she would not be receiving her miracle. She approached and then the window rolled down and she saw Sherlock sitting there, looking at her. She gave him a small smile. “Hello,” she said quietly.

“Hello, Molly,” he said.

“Happy birthday,” she replied, knowing what the day was.

His mouth hitched up slightly as he moved over so she could join him. “I suppose it is better, though not entirely happy,” he said.

She opened the door and slid into the car and then rolled the window up. “I take it that things are not going to end well,” she said, her smile going away.

He shook his head. “I have to go away. To take care of a problem in Russia. I should be gone for six months.”

She studied his face when he spoke, looking at him. The look in his eyes belied the words he was saying, and she moved closer, resting her hand on his. “Liar,” she said softly. “You’re not expecting to come back.”

He looked as though he was going to protest, and then his shoulders sagged slightly and he bowed his head. “Always more astute than anyone gives you credit for,” he said, turning his hand so his palm pressed against hers.

“So that’s your punishment?” she asked. He nodded, and she felt her hand ball into a fist as tears threatened to leak out the corners of her eyes. “It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” he said. “I leave tomorrow. John and Mary…they’ll be allowed to say good-bye to me on the tarmac, but I wanted to spend my last night with you. I wanted…I wanted to do what I should have done when I returned, what I should have done before I fell. What I should have done if I hadn’t been so blind. I wanted to take you on at least one proper date before…”

She looked up at him and really studied him for a moment. He seemed to have aged a bit over the last few weeks, it seemed. The weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. But he still presented the appearance of sharp elegance. Then her eyes widened. “You’re wearing my scarf,” she said, unclenching her fist and reaching up to finger the scarf she had mailed to him.

He nodded. “I had thought the skulls on it was a macabre but fitting touch,” he said with a smile. “I also know it was quite expensive. You did not have to spend so much on me.”

She blushed slightly. “I wanted to get you something nice. And I saw it and…I just thought of you. The cost didn’t matter.”

“I didn’t get the chance to give you your present, and unfortunately, I will not be able to,” he said. “I had composed a song for you. I’d been working on it since the wedding. The sheet music is at Baker Street, to be given to you tomorrow. Perhaps you can find a skilled enough violinist to play it for you.”

She shook her head. “I want to hear you play it,” she said. “We can go to Baker Street and you can play it for me.”

“But my plans…” he said.

“Even the best plans change,” she said, giving him a smile. “I would rather hear you play the song and spend the night curled up next to you, just being with you. I mean, even if it is your birthday and all, I just…I don’t want to spend any of it with other people.” She grasped the scarf a little more and used it to pull him closer. “I just want to spend tonight with you.”

He nodded, leaning in as she pulled on the scarf more. Finally he was close, their lips just inches apart, and then he leaned in and kissed her. It went from soft and tender to something intense and passionate so quickly she was almost shocked; she hadn’t been sure that he had possessed that level of passion towards her, or she towards him. But she held on to the scarf to keep him close as he moved his hand to her waist and she realized that while tonight might be the only night they had together, it would be the most memorable night of her life. He would make sure of it.


End file.
